


Fooled Around and Fell In Love

by lordofthepotatoes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Angst, Bartender Dean, College Student Castiel, Desperation, Drugs, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Hippie Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Music, New York City, Pain, Smoking, Tension, Vietnam War, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:52:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2127489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordofthepotatoes/pseuds/lordofthepotatoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1970, Dean Winchester fell in love with New York’s most colourful Flower Child, Castiel Novak. Over the decade, they go through the ups and downs of living in a time when their love wasn’t accepted. Through tension and desperation; will they make it out the other side?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fooled Around and Fell In Love

**Author's Note:**

> I just really like forbidden love, okay? ;-; don't worry, Five Years is still a work in process for those reading that. I just had this idea floating around my head for a while so...This is the result of that. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this...Everyone loves a tragic love story, right?

_1970_

The juke box in the corner of the bar whirred as it replaced its record and began scratching a new one, bleeding into the mingling, muffled sounds of the people crowded in the bar. 

Dean stood, a little wearily, behind the bar, throwing a dish cloth over his shoulder as he went to grab a glass from the shelf. 

“Did you say a Jack, or double?” Dean asked over his shoulder, at the rather scruffy looking man, with a salt and pepper, patchy-looking beard, wrists weighed down with thick gold chains. 

“Double.” He replied, searching around his pocket for some loose change. “Busy tonight?”

“Yeah, actually.” Dean said, unscrewing the cap now that he was facing the counter again, looking out onto the sea of people. “That new Planet of the Apes movie just came out.”

“Who in their right mind would wanna go see a movie about a couple of talking monkeys?” He cracked a laugh. “All they gotta do is come an’ sit here for an hour or two.”

“Beats me.” Dean chuckled, replacing the drink with the man’s money, noticing right away there was more than there should be. “You-”

“That’s for you, kid.” He said, lifting off the bar stool, drink in his slightly frail looking hand. “Never see ya outta this place.” 

“Thanks.” Dean quirked a smile, putting the money in his pocket, but the man was already walking away, stagger to his step. “You take it easy, alright?” Though, he was cut off with a wave, and the guy was lost in the crowd. 

Sometimes he was glad for the busy nights, though these days they were few and far between, but tonight just wasn’t one of them. Dean was tired, his legs were shaky and sore, and he was certain his back was on the verge of breaking, should he have to bend down to get ice one more time. 

The music was still slithering through the voices around, making him sway involuntarily on his feet, humming lowly to himself as he got back to drying glasses.

 _“Five year plans and new deals wrapped in golden chains.”_ He sang under his breath, polishing away at the shot glass. _“And I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain._

He turned then, still singing, setting them all, nice and shining now, back on the shelf. This bar wasn’t much in the way of looks, but he liked to think during his shift, people noticed the difference. 

Dean glanced at his watch, whistling again as the song droned off at the end. _“And I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain.”_

“What I wouldn’t give to have you sing me to sleep every night.” A voice suddenly startled him out of his daze. A girl’s voice. Dean glanced over his shoulder, putting his hands on the counter. 

“You should hear me when I don’t suck.” 

She laughed, though it sounded like a hum, dark eyes travelling downwards before they snapped back up, grin on her very white teeth. 

“What can I get for ya?” 

“Pink Gin and a Red Barrel.” She began searching in her purse. “For me and my friend over there-” 

Dean automatically glanced over her shoulder, spotting about the only other girl in there, with long dark hair and equally dark eyes. At first glance he would have called them sisters. 

“Sure thing, Sweetheart.” 

“-And this is for you.” She took out a little piece of paper, her number already scrawled on it. Dean scoffed and took it. 

“You came prepared.”

“Always. You never know which pretty face’ll take you home for the night.” She smirked, biting the corner of her lip as she put her chin in her palm, eye lashes still fluttering up at him. “Name’s Meg.”

“Well, Meg,” Dean said, pushing the note into his pocket. “Maybe some other time, yeah?”

“You a square or somethin’?”

“No, got a little brother to babysit tonight.” He got to making her drinks, setting the special glasses out in front of him. He didn’t often get to make fancy drinks, seeing as the majority of people that came in here these days were either old men or jock college kids. 

“You in college?” Meg asked then. Dean glanced up and shook his head, bending to get some ice, much to his displeasure. “So, what’s the deal with you then? How come you weren’t drafted with all the other boys?”

“Full time guardian. I hopped, skipped and jumped out of that one.” 

“So by ‘babysit’, you meant go home and do what you always do?” Meg laughed that laugh of hers. “What age is your brother?” 

“Sixteen.” He set the drinks up on the counter and held his hand out for the money that was carefully set in his palm. 

“Aww. Well, Sugar, if you change your mind.” She winked, turning towards her table that was already getting swarmed by men like flies to sweet stuff. 

His shift went in fast after that. Ash came in to cover him at midnight, though, as usual, he was late and bleary eyed, and his shirt was buttoned up wrong. Dean put on his jacket while Ash got himself in order and took a breath, along with a pure shot of vodka. 

“Busy?” He asked, a little breathless.

“Yeah…Where the hell were you this time?” Dean laughed, wrapping his scarf around his neck. 

“There was a rally on Madison Avenue, man.” Ash shook his head, hooting at the thought. “It was awesome.”

“Why do you even go to those things?”

“Those Flower Chicks know a couple of psychedelic things when it comes to-”

“Alright, alright.” Dean puffed, putting his hands up. “I’m exhausted. Last thing I wanna hear right now is how some fuzzy haired, head band wearing hippy, went down on you.”

Ash chuckled, almost childishly, looking at his reflection in the cloudy mirror behind the bottle of spirits, pushing his hair back. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, man.” 

“See ya, Dean.” 

The crowd had well and truly died by then, and the juke box was no longer singing its happier tunes, filling the dark area with its only source of light, other than the flickering bar signs. People were huddled around tables, as though to keep warm, not sparing a glance at anyone outside of their inner circle. 

Ash waved to Dean from the bar as he reached the door and Dean waved back, stepping onto the street to get hit by the icy air blowing its way around Manhattan. Though, Dean was glad for it. The chill numbed his sore back, yet made his legs move faster in attempt to seek out heat, though his apartment wasn’t a far walk from the bar. 

His hands found his pockets, feeling the sharp edges of Meg’s little note, making him laugh to himself. Honestly, babysitting wouldn’t have stopped him. Tiredness was his excuse tonight, and man, he was tired. 

While being a full time guardian for his little brother had excluded him from the draft, that had been the cause of so many boys and men getting shipped off to Vietnam, he was stuck working two jobs, seven days a week. 

Though, he had to remind himself, that at least being a bar tender slash mechanic wasn’t life threatening – so, he’d take the exhaustion and be happy with it. 

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one up with a shaky reddening hand, holding the flame of his match as close to his hand as possible without burning himself, shook it out and threw it down a gutter as he passed. 

He crossed the road onto Park Avenue, still hearing the shouts of the Protesters lingering around Madison. That wasn’t surprising. They’d probably be around until morning, running from the cops, doing what they did. 

Dean shivered a bit under his coat, looking into the dark shop windows as he passed, thinking about how he was going to have to get the money up to buy warmer coats for him and Sam. It’d start snowing soon. 

Though it was cold, the night was pleasant enough. The wind was mild and the air was fresh in his lungs, making his cheeks turn pink. The smoke of his cigarette made his eyes sting, so he cast them downwards, blowing the smoke out of his nose instead. 

The sound of police sirens filled the sky then, blue and red lighting up the street, aside from the street lamps. Dean stopped to watch them whiz by, thinking how those guys were probably in the same boat as him, working over time to feed their families.

But, he kept walking, watching his feet as he went, sniffing when his nose got just a little too cold – though, he could see his building from where he was. 

From the outside it looked more like a large house with a black iron fence around the outside, big bright green door and a large brass knocker in the shape of a lions head. It even had a garden, front and back. Once it had belonged to some old business lady that had some real successful shoe shop in central New York – though, Dean had got his apartment through a friend of his, who knew the owner.

He approached, rustling around in his pocket for his keys, drawing them out and skimming through them until his eye caught something up ahead. He stopped, brow furrowing as the shape came into view. 

It was a man, running as though his life depended on it, looking over his shoulder every couple of strides. From here it looked like he was wearing a tee-shirt. Dean shivered for him; the same chill that made his legs move again and sent him in through the gate.

The footsteps were almost upon him as he got to the door, but to his surprise, they stopped, the heavy sound of panting flooding the stillness of the night. Dean turned, holding his key tight in his hand.

“Y-you have to help me-” The man fought for a breath, fidgeting as he put his hands on the gate. Dean could tell that, even in the dark, his eyes were watering.

Dean looked at him, own eyes narrowing, watching him as the man played with the latch in the gate.

“Please, please-”

“Woah, woah, hold on a second, buddy.” Dean said, finally coming to his senses, moving forward. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I-I was at a rally on Madison, and-”

“Oh no.” Dean put his hands up, hearing enough. "No. Man-"

“Please, please!” The man persisted, getting as close to the closed gate as he possibly could as though just being behind it would protect him. 

“Don’t you have your own place to go to?” Dean stressed, looking down the street now, hearing the sirens in the distance. 

“Yes, but, I can’t run all the way to Lower Manhattan!” 

“So, get a taxi!”

“Y-you think I have money for a taxi?” He exclaimed, eyes wide and panic stricken. Dean shrugged, mouth pulled tight with both the cold and the intensity of this moment. This guy was obviously desperate.

As if on queue, the blaring of sirens became much louder, making them both flinch, heads snapping down the street. The guy gave him a fleeting look, mouth parted, eyes pleading.

“Please. Please!” 

“Jesus Christ, alright!” Dean exclaimed, pulling the latch and motioned for him to follow fast, digging for his keys again before he swung the door open and let the guy fly inside first before he followed, banging the door shut behind him. 

In the light of the hallway, he finally got a good look at the man who was still fighting to catch a breath. He looked a little bruised, especially under his right eye. His sunshine yellow tee-shirt was actually torn, but that didn’t seem surprising. The thing looked so thin you could spit through it. Aside from that though, what caught his eye, was the wooden peace symbol hanging around his neck on a long cord.

But, it was now that the heat hit them, that the man actually began to shake with the cold, holding his arms tight with his hands as he glanced around. Dean wasn’t sure if it was the florescent light or not, but those were two of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. 

“T-t-thank y-you.” He struggled to get the words out of his vibrating teeth. Dean winced a bit and started towards the stairs. “R-really.” He sniffed, letting out a bit of a whimper as though talking actually pained him. 

“I’m not gonna have a problem with you here, am I?” Dean asked, tongue skirting his lips as he watched the man shiver himself into a frenzy, trying not to feel too sympathetic. After all, he was still a stranger - and who knew who this guy really was - though, by the looks of him Dean couldn't sense any immediate danger. 

“No, n-no, I p-promise.” The other blinked, stepping towards him. “I’ll be gone in thirty minutes j-just…Thank y-you.”

“It’s alright.” Dean said, stepping onto the first step. “C’mon, it’ll be warmer in my apartment. Just be quiet, alright? Little brother’s probably sleepin’”

They started up the stairs, Dean holding the railing as he did, stepping around the old sleeping cat at the top of the staircase that belonged to the old woman on the bottom floor, pointing it out quietly so the other man didn’t stumble. 

“What’s your name?” 

“C-Cas.” He swallowed, running a hand over his wild dark hair. Dean watched him. “Castiel N-Novak.” 

“I’m Dean.” 

“Y-you live here with your brother?” Cas asked, stopping when Dean pulled his keys out again to unlock the door to his place.

“Yep.” Dean answered him, admittedly a little dryly. He just wanted to go to bed, but now he was going to have to entertain for thirty minutes – though, the guy would probably have died of hypothermia if he hadn’t let those big angel eyes get to him. 

Dean stepped inside first, flicking on the light as he made for the static TV, shutting it off before he made around trying to straighten things up a bit. His apartment was by no means big or out of the ordinary, it was actually very plain. One joint living room, complete with sofa and dodgy TV that only worked at a certain time of the day, (though that always seemed to change), and a little dining table shoved in the corner on that side of the kitchen counter, and of course, the kitchen itself. Right behind the couch were three doors, one of which was the bathroom, the other two being bedrooms. 

Nothing wonderful. 

“Sorry about the, uh, mess. We’re not used to visitors.”

“I-It’s alright. It’s nice.” Cas said, eyes travelling around again. Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and watched him from the other side of the room, starting to have thoughts like _‘What if this guy actually is serial killer?’_ “Guess I’m i-in no position to b-be fussy, anyway.” 

Dean hummed, bit of a laugh escaping his lips at the absurdity of Cas being a murderer, and headed into the kitchen to stick the stove on, figuring he would probably want something hot. Dean filled the kettle up and set it on top, rubbing his own hands together to rid them off their cold sting.

While it boiled, he took his jacket off and threw it onto the couch, pulling open one of the cabinets that kept a blanket for when one of them would pass out on the couch. He took it out and threw it at the blue eyed man that, he now noticed, had an extremely innocent look to him. The way his shoulders hung, the downwards turn to his eyes, the mop of hair. More like a child that had lost his mother in the market than a guy running from the cops. 

“Sit down. You’re gonna be here a while.” Dean said, pausing to yawn before he moved back to the kitchen, looking out the small window to his right. “Tea? Coffee?...Whatever.” He blinked out of his stare, feeling the tiredness creep into his bones, making his movements slow and weak. 

“Coffee…Please.” Cas did as he was told, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, knees shaking violently. Dean heard him trying to get comfortable on the couch, moving so he wasn’t sitting so much on the blanket. 

He was just getting used to the silence swimming around them when the kettle began whistling. Dean lifted it off the stove and set up the coffee cup, stirring it pathetically, not even having the strength for that. 

“What were you doing out so late?” Cas asked drearily. 

“Work.” Dean mumbled, picking up the cup and came to set it on the table before the messy haired man. “I work in Longmans Bar on Ninety-Sixth Street.” 

“Yeah, I know it – Thank you.” Cas said, taking the coffee gratefully, holding it with both hands while Dean went back to the window in the kitchen to push it open, pulling his box of cigarettes out of his pocket to light one up and sit on the small ledge beside a potted plant. 

“You smoke?”

“No thanks.” Cas said, sipping the steaming stuff. “Never been big on it.” 

“Huh.” Dean struggled with the matches for a second, finally getting a flame before he stuck the cigarette in his mouth. “So, why were you running from the cops?” He said around the smoke, looking out onto what he could see of the road from this angle. It was as dead as it normally was for a Thursday night. But the stars were out, and the moon was in full view. The air was still bitter, but the heat drafting out of his apartment made his cheeks burn - making his eyes ever heavier. 

“We tried to break into the Draft Office.” Cas sniffed, sighing a bit as he spoke. “Guess we’ll never learn.”

“Guess not.” Dean took another pull, too tired to keep the conversation up. Judging by the silence, he took it that Cas was possibly feeling the same way, so he remained quiet and finished his cigarette quickly, desperate to climb into bed and melt into the sheets.

When he was done, he closed the window, doing up the latch and pulled the curtain over, heading back into view of the stranger sitting in his living room, about to subtly hint that it was time for him to go. 

But, to his surprise, Cas was asleep, cup of coffee still resting against his stomach that rose steadily, his head lent against the cushions of the couch, in a rather uncomfortable looking position. Dean groaned lowly and rubbed his eyes. 

“Fuck it.” Dean said under his breath, too tired to bother shifting him. He took the cup from Cas's hand and set it on the side table by the couch. “Sleep tight, you reckless hippie.” 

Dean took a second just to watch him, slightly amazed how under he was. The guy was out cold – exhausted – his lips slightly parted, still wet with coffee. A small smile lit on Dean’s face before he huffed a laugh and headed towards his own room to finally allow himself the small pleasure of going to sleep until the next day’s work called him forth; his Flower Child acquaintance would be long since gone and lost in the waves of Manhattan. 

*

Morning came, not by the sound of his alarm clock, nor the birds that twittered in the trees of their highly overgrown garden, but soft voices in the living room. At first Dean was certain he was dreaming, but as he lay in his brown toned room, new day light sun streaming threw the blinds, casting shadows on the wall, Dean realised this was no dream. 

He peeled his eyes open, face still down amongst his pillows. It was then that feeling so similar to a hangover hit him. Dean groaned, looking over at the clock, whimpering at the sight of how early it was. 

His face hit the pillows again, trying desperately to clasp unto the notion of sleep once again, but those voices were still seeping in through his closed door – must have been the TV. Sam was probably getting ready for school. 

After a few more minutes of trying to get back to sleep, Dean gave up, and sat up, figuring this’d mean he’d get to have breakfast at home for a change. He pushed a hand through his hair, certain it was standing on end, and reached for his cigarettes and matches on the bedside table. 

He stumbled outside, sniffing tiredly, already sticking a smoke in his mouth as he shouldered the door open and staggered into the living room, hands fumbling with the matches. 

“Sammy,” Dean said, voice gravelly from sleep, “Will ya pick up a bottle of milk on-” at that he looked up, cigarette finally alight, but dangling out of his mouth when two blue eyes were staring back. 

“Hi…Uh, Dean.” Cas said, nervous sort of smile on his face, eyes averting from his awkwardly. Dean looked down, realising he didn’t bother with pyjamas last night, and settled instead for just striping down to his boxers. 

“So much for thirty minutes.” Dean puffed the smoke out the corner of his mouth before he looked at Sam. “Why the hell aren’t you getting ready for school?”

“I was talking to Cas.” Sam shrugged, looking at him over the couch. 

“Oh, yeah?” Dean mumbled.

“Yeah. Did you know his brother’s in Vietnam fighting right now?” Sam said, eyes alive with interest. “And his other brother, Gabriel, right?” He looked at Cas for confirmation who nodded, running a hand over his hair that looked no different from the night before. “Yeah, he’s out in the mission fields in Seoul.”

“Sounds great.” Dean said in the same low tone, making his way to the kitchen, trying to flatten his own hair down as subtly as he could. “But seriously, go get ready for school, if I have to take another call from your teacher about tardiness I’m gonna cut the phone cord, got it?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam got up. Dean didn’t watch him go to his room, but he heard the door shut and felt the roll of his little brother’s eyes without having to look. He scoffed and turned now to glance at Cas, leaning against the kitchen counter, with a more questioning look as he put the smoke to his lips again. 

“I’m sorry – I would have been gone by now, it’s just I-”

“Didn’t wake up?” Dean raised an eyebrow, exhaling through his nose. 

“Yeah.” Cas said meekly, looking away again. “Guess the cold really knocked me out.” 

“Yeah, me too. But, um, I have to get to work.” Dean couldn't help but feel like he was giving the morning after speech - about how he'd promise to call and meet up again soon. 

“At Longmans?” Cas’s head cocked in confusion. “They open this early?”

“No-” Dean took a draw “at Singer’s Auto Repair.”

“You have two jobs?”

“Barely takes two to feed Sammy and run this apartment…Not to mention sending him to college in a couple of years, so yeah. Two jobs.” Dean crossed an arm over his stomach, leaning an elbow on it as his head turned to look out the window again, catching sight of the frost stuck to the corners of the glass. “I’ll lend you a sweater, though.” He cleared his throat, smoke catching his lungs, though that didn’t stop him from taking another drag,

“You don’t have to do that, Dean, I’ll just hop on a bus and I’ll be home in no time.” Cas smiled, taking the blanket to stand up, seeming paler in the daylight. The bruise under his eye had darkened significantly too, turning yellow at the centre, like a harvest moon behind dark clouds. 

“What happened?” 

“A police officer.” Cas touched the area consciously, hissing a bit as he pressed it lightly. “Nothing a pack of ice won’t fix-”

Though, Dean was on the ball, going to the fridge to pull out a bottle of beer, taking another pull of the cigarette as he threw it over to Cas on the way to his bedroom. 

“Don’t have a freezer, but that’ll do for now – put it on your eye.”

Cas did as he was told while Dean went to rummage through his dresser to find him something other than a ripped tee-shirt to wear. He settled for an old lay-about-the-apartment sweater that someone had given him one Christmas a couple of years ago. While he was in there, he pulled on a pair of pyjama pants too, holding the cigarette in his mouth as he hauled his tired, heavy, body into them. 

Cas was standing in the same spot, bottle stuck to his eye, when Dean came out with his thickly knit jumper, putting it in Cas’s free hand. 

“No, it’s alright-”

“What bus driver is gonna pick up a black eyed, homeless looking hippie at this time in the morning?” 

“Point taken.” Cas gave him a weak smile, taking the sweater. “Thank you – I didn’t mean for this to turn into a Samaritan cause.”

“Well, it did and it’s cool man.” Dean said, heading back to the kitchen to set a bowl out for him and Sam, wondering if he should offer Cas breakfast too or if that’d be too weird. But, Blue Eyes didn’t look too set on staying anyways. 

Dean watched him pull the sweater on and head for the door, turning the keys and opening the door. Dean was a little stomached that the old knit thing suited Cas much better than it ever did on him. 

“I’ll bring this back to you.”

“Keep it.” Dean waved him off, pulling his ash tray out of the sink to put the bud out. “Just take it easy, man.” 

“Thank you, I will.” Cas smiled, a genuine smile like a warm ray of sunshine on this cold day, and headed out, shutting the old door behind him. 

Dean stared at it for the longest while, not really thinking about anything, just what had happened. It didn’t really seem real. He was about to question whether he’d dreamt the whole thing when Sam came out and asked where Cas had gone. 

“Never mind where he went - eat your breakfast and get outta here.” Dean ran a hand over his younger brothers still messy hair, having to reach up a little. “You need to stop growing.” 

“Well, maybe you’d have been taller if didn’t smoke – it stunts your growth, y’know.” Sam said, taking his bowl to sit on the couch in front of the TV, smiling boyishly at Dean.

“Watch it.” Dean lent on the counter, picking his own spoon up to dig into his breakfast. 

*

Dean waited around outside for Bobby to come pick him up, another cigarette shoved in his mouth, in an old pair of jeans and a black bomber jacket, collar turned up to keep the cold out. 

As usual, he was late with some excuse about the traffic being terrible, and as usual Dean waved it off. Bobby was good enough to give him a lift – _hell, he was good enough to give him a job in the first place._

 _Rainy Night in Georgia_ was streaming through the radio, blocking out the noise of racing cars speeding through New York City, trying to get to their destinations as fast as possible. He watched them out the window, the smoke of his cigarette trailing in the wind behind them. It still astounded him how many cars there were here. Having grown up on Kansas, he wasn’t subjected to many of them. A car was a big deal. He’d love nothing more than his own someday – but right now, he neither had the time nor the money. 

Driving over the Brooklyn Bridge, his eyes took skywards instead, were the clouds were still that winter morning purple, shining a little pink around the edges. Gulls were flying way overhead, circling the cars that were making their journey to Brooklyn, crying over the wind at each other, voices getting lost in the cruel twists of the gust. 

And Dean wondered what that must be like – to call out desperately to someone that couldn’t hear them. 

*

Work was slow that day. 

He was under a white Mercury Breezeway that just refused to cooperate with him, but he figured taking his time wouldn’t do him any harm. 

Bobby came out with a cup of coffee and set it next to him, crouching down to watch for a second. 

“Thanks, Bobby.” Dean said a little distantly, tightening a bolt under the bonnet. 

“Everythin’ alright with you lately?” Bobby said blatantly. Dean didn’t look at him, he just shrugged.

“How do you mean?”

“Because all you do is work…When was the last time you took a day off?” 

“I’m alright, Bobby, I’m lucky I have a job…I’m lucky I’m not out getting my ass blown up in ‘Nam.” He rolled himself out from under and sat up to take his cup, wiping the oil stained brow with an equally stained handed. 

“Yeah, but, that don’t mean you can’t take a break every once and a while.”

“I got my brother to look after…He wants to go to college. Y’know, I’m not about to deprive him of that.” 

“Look, Dean, all I’m asking is that you actually use the holidays I give ya sometime.” Bobby looked a little bewildered. “Damn, I’m usually tellin’ guys here to _stop_ takin’ holidays.” 

“It’s not like I have anything to do anyway, all my friends are away.” 

“Kid, you’re twenty years old. Make some new friends while they’re gone – live for yourself for a change. Sam’d thank ya for it.” 

“Can you spare me the fruity pep talk, Bobby.” Dean puffed, putting the mug to his lips, glancing at the car again. “I’m alright – I’m actually happy for maybe the first time in… _years_.” Dean had to think about that for a second. 

Bobby made a low noise as if to agree, scratching something off the ground next to him before he looked up with a raised eyebrow. “I remember when you first came up here…Got yourself in with a couple of swingers-”

“Bobby, no-”

“What was his name again?”

“I swear to God-”

“And then there was that girl too-”

“Jesus Christ, Bobby, I’m about to smack you ‘round the ear.”

Bobby dissolved into bubbly laughter, mostly because of the look on Dean’s face, shaking his head with a hoot. 

“You were a funny kid.”

“That was two years ago.” Dean huffed. 

“And you haven’t changed a notion.” 

*

Dean took a call in Bobby's office during the late afternoon from Sam, asking him if milk was all they needed and what time Dean’d be home at. 

“Depends what time Ash gets in.” Dean said. “Shouldn’t be too late though. Why?” 

“Just wonderin’.” 

“ _Just wonderin’_?” Dean mocked, laughing when Sam tutted. 

“I have someone coming over, alright?” 

“I knew it.” Dean pulled a chair out to sit down, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear while he cleaned his hands on a cloth. “Who is she? That girl that called the other night?”

“Yeah. Jess.” Sam said. Dean could practically hear the smile. 

“Well, like I said, depends what time Ash gets in.” Dean reiterated, setting his boot up on the table before Bobby walked past as pushed it off. “And, hey, make sure you walk her home, Sammy. Or wait ‘til I get home and I will, just don’t leave her stuck, alright? Too many protests goin’ on right now.” 

“Yeah, got it.” Sam seemed to take that on board. “I’ll see ya later, then.”

After that, Dean hung up the phone with the biggest grin plastered on his face, but he couldn’t deny the twinge in his heart. 

Sammy was growing up. 

*

When Dean got to Longmans, in a clean shirt and pants, it was already quietly buzzing, mostly with regulars. He took the keys from Jo who was itching to get out of there.

“Thank God, I thought you’d never get here.” She said, doing the belt on her coat. “One: I’ve been dying for a smoke, and two: we’re going dancing with some of the boys that just got back.”

“Sounds good.”

“You should come along sometime.” She seemed genuine, blonde hair bouncing about her shoulders. 

“Haven’t gone dancing in a _long_ time.” Dean stifled a laugh, setting up the glasses the way he liked them.

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” 

“Thanks, Jo, but I’m good. I’ll catch you tomorrow – you have the pleasure of sharing a shift with me.” He winked.

“ _Joy._ ” Jo sighed, catching onto that famous smile. With that though, she turned and headed outside in a quick flurry of heels hitting the wooden floor. 

It was watching the door shut that he was reminded of his morning and the past night, bringing a soft smile to his features. It was a laughable experience; but now in hindsight he was glad. Who knew what would have become of the mysterious Flower Child from Lower Manhattan had he not granted him access to his shabby apartment. 

No sooner had he started taking orders, the door swung open again with a couple of girls and boys piling inside, radiating energy and freshness into the dull old bar. It was a nice change of scenery – but on closer inspection, Dean realized he recognized two of the girls. 

Being the forward lady that Meg was she smiled and cocked her head at him, breaking from the group to saunter over. 

“Well, if it isn’t the babysitter.” She hummed, pushing her hair back so it fell to the side, falling over her round cheeks that were still red from the bite of the air outside. 

Dean laughed, leaning on the counter. “Babysitter?”

“Slash bar-man.” Meg made a bit of a face. 

“Slash mechanic.” 

“Aren’t you just full of mysteries – anyway, Sugar, we’ve got some friends coming by so give us a couple of different things, it doesn’t matter, as long as it’s alcoholic.” 

“Sure thing.” Dean chuckled. “I’ll bring it over when they get here.”

“Perfect.” 

So, Dean got to work on making up the array of drinks, taking his time to make the cocktails colourful, and the beers perfectly poured, and the whiskey’s turned in exactly the right about of coke. 

Mostly to pass time, but also because Dean actually liked making drinks. 

And in the blink of an eye, more young people were crowding in through the door, still cold from the air outside. Some as colourful as the cocktails he had made, with long hair that reached their waists, and mid rifts showing even in this cold weather, adorning themselves in bright big bangles and earrings and head bands and face paint. 

Dean could hear the older men grumbling from their tables, most not able to get their heads around the boldness of it all. Dean found it all very mesmerizing. 

He set two trays on the counter and began filling them up with the drinks he’d made, careful not to spill any. The focus hadn’t made him notice someone standing in front of the counter, startling him a bit when he did look up.

“Dean?” 

“Holy shit. Cas, right?” Dean said, mirroring the growing smile that was on the other’s face. 

“I thought you’d be here!” 

“Well, yeah. I’m here every night.” 

Cas chuckled and shook his head. “And you’ve got your clothes on.” 

“I know, it’s a pity, really. These people don't know what they're missing.” 

"Aren't I lucky I've had the privilege then?" 

They shared another laugh. Dean trying to ignore the little tightening to his stomach – he was half way sure he’d never see this guy again and he hadn’t realized until now how much he didn’t want that. He didn't realize how infectious Cas was. How enticing the clearness of his eyes were. The dark contrast of dark hair against pale skin - simply something to behold. 

Cas watched him for a second as he finished up squeezing the glasses onto the tray before he spoke again, for which Dean was glad. "Listen, thanks again for-"

"Man, I keep tellin' you it's no big deal." Dean stopped him, looking at him again. "I'm sorry I hesitated - you could have died of the cold or something." 

"Yeah, that or get kicked out of college." Cas hummed, running his fingers through his hair. Dean wondered what it felt like. "I'm one arrest away from having my place terminated, then I'm getting shipped back to Detroit."

"Better start behaving yourself then." Dean made a face, laughing when Cas averted his eyes again with a chuckle. “Anyway, these are for your table.”

“I’ll help you carry them over.” Cas offered, already taking one in his hand. “Maybe I’ll make a good impression and you can give me a job.”

“First my apartment, now my job? Cas, are you a moocher?” Dean said, and Cas stifled a laugh in a ' _You're hilarious.'_ sort of way, to which Dean, of course, replied with a _'I know.'_ smugness to his smile. 

Dean lifted the other tray then and opened the latch to go out into the crowd of tables, setting the tray down to distribute the drinks out in no particular order. 

Cas was passing them over his friends shoulders, calling out obscure names for the oddly coloured ones, making them all bubble with laughter in their electric current. 

Dean noticed Meg, both arms tight around Cas’s stomach, hugging him tightly while he took one of the drinks for himself, looking down at her with such care in his eyes it made Dean’s gut twist. 

So, he went to go back to the bar, a little frustrated at himself for having feelings like that, until that familiar voice called him again. “Thank you, Dean!”

“Oh, that’s his name.” He heard Meg say, all caught up in Cas, like their passing flirtation was but a grain of sand next to Cas’s ocean - and really, he couldn't blame her. 

And now Dean thought about it while he was watching Meg pull Cas as close to her as she physically could, that that love at first sight notion, wasn’t a myth at all. 

New York was full of wondrous sights, things you'd never dream of seeing anywhere else in the world - Castiel Novak was most definitely one of them.


End file.
